


Gazardiel and Snort

by NurglingCoofer



Category: Warhammer Fantasy
Genre: Canon Compliant, Magic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-15
Updated: 2021-03-06
Packaged: 2021-03-17 10:55:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 18,505
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29470542
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NurglingCoofer/pseuds/NurglingCoofer
Summary: A man seeks forbidden lore while his mutant companion aids him.
Kudos: 3





	1. Chapter 1

**CHAPTER 1**

The sun was at its highest point and the temperature followed its rise on the hot sticky Ostermark summer day. Normally anywhere else in the Empire birds would be calling and insects humming, there would be wind whistling through leaves and game animals roaming and grazing. Not here, however, no for this was the Dead Wood. Only the sliest of critters and resilient flora could maintain life in such a place. All around long-dead trees jutted from the ground, their branches twisting out like petrified tentacles. Logs, branches, and twisting thorny bushes made travel through the woods difficult. The only signs of life visible were an odd greyish green moss, an assortment of fungi, and two shadowy figures weaving their way through the bramble in a not so efficient manner.

The two figures stopped for a moment in a small clearing where dirt and half-decayed wood lay covered in the eerie moss. The taller figure was holding a parchment inquisitively while the other shorter fellow staggered about staring into the distance, its expression giving a peculiar impression that the man (which calling him so would be considered heresy depending on your company in the Empire) contemplated everything as well as nothing at all. He stood about four and a half feet with a bit of a hunch and leaned towards the right. If you were to face him you would immediately notice his three main features: a large ball like cranium jutting out a bit from the lower half of his head, his left eye being a strange mix of purplish-blue which glowed a hazy aura, and his big bulbous nose. His nose was how he gained his name, Snort. He seemed to have an issue or two breathing through it and when he attempted to do so it was usually accompanied by a sound similar to a hog.

Snort hobbled over to the taller man standing with the parchment of paper who was in the process of muttering some curses and looking about. He had a slender look to him, one could say bordering on malnourished. The man stood a few short inches of six feet. He wore a pale green flax woven tunic with sleeves ending at the biceps, tattered grey pants which were at one point black, and a dusty tricorne hat atop his head. His face was dirtied, and thin, with the slightest air of cunning that which is common among petty criminals. Although he may have been older looking in appearance, he was not. As far as he knew he wasn't even past the age of twenty-five give or take. If one looked past the dirt and poor diet the man may have passed for handsome in his better days. These were not the man's better days.

Snort looked up at the man as he tugged at his tunic as a child would. "Is we lost Mastuh?" Snort inquired to the man punctuating the question with a long sniff that Snort was known for. The man dropped the parchment below his gaze looking around again quickly. "Of course not Snort. I would never get us lost. We are just, um... taking a break." The man gazed at his surroundings again. He cursed these dreaded woods for looking the same and he cursed the Black Boar Company for being the reason they were out in the Dead Wood in the first place. They just had to have Witch's Foot which just happened to only grow in the Dead Wood, of course, the man thought. The man also cursed the map he was holding. Which turned out to be particularly useless. He wondered for a moment if it was his own ignorance of how to read the thing or if it was the Company's incompetence when equipping him with such a useless tool. No, it must be their incompetence, he thought.

"Snort, hold this." The man commanded as he rolled the map up and extended it towards Snort. Snort took the map and immediately unfurled it again. He then began to curiously pour over the details of the map. "I already know where to go, Snort" the man explained. He then picked up the basket he had placed on the ground to study the map and was off. In the back of the man's mind, the thought of having absolutely no idea where he was going was beginning to chew away at him. He pushed the thought deep and strode on, Snort in the rear holding the map to his face while he walked.

The evening was beginning to show its colors in the sky and the man was now worried deeply. The Dead Wood was one of the last places you wanted to be caught out in the night, besides maybe Mordheim which sat somewhere deep within. The man was growing weary and tired. He had not eaten anything since morning thinking that the Witch's Foot mushrooms would only be a few hours labor at most. Now he was beginning to think he would die. The man shifted a weary gaze towards his follower Snort who still studied the map. Annoyed, the man tore the map from Snort's hands.

"We're going to die out here thanks to that map! What's so interesting about it anyway?" The man fumed. Snort sniffled and hid his gaze towards his right shoulder, something he did when the man scolded him. "Snort jus like the pretty coluh Mastuh". The man furled his eyebrows and looked at the map again. "What colors you oaf? It's just black ink on old parchment. It doesn't matter. If we don't get back to Bissendorf then by Sigmar we'll be the next meal of whatever haunts this place at night." The man said as he stuffed the map back into the basket with the mushrooms they had gathered earlier.

"Bissendorf? Snort knows where Bissendorf is!" Snort then pointed in a direction close to the opposite way the man had been leading this entire time. Before the man could even protest Snort began to hobble off. The man realized he was too tired and weary to argue and decided that a gamble on Snorts not always so keen senses were all he could think to do at this point.

The two had been walking for hours now and the sun was just about to set. Now the man was not just worried but about to soil his trousers in fear at the aspect of being caught in the Dead Wood at dark. Snort had gained a bit of distance from the man. Despite the limp and slow pace of the minion he did seem to possess boundless stamina. In fact, in all the years the man had taken in Snort as his minion he had not known him to need a break or seem weary once. The man noted this characteristic in his underling and went to increase his pace when suddenly he noticed a pair of glowing yellow eyes beyond some of the dead brush where Snort was heading directly towards!

"Snort!" The man cried out "Snort wait!" Snort looked back pointing towards the direction of the eyes, a look of satisfaction on his face. He jumped gleefully still pointing "Mastuh here here!" He exclaimed and ran off as best Snort could run. The man cursed and doubled his pace while yelling at Snort but to no avail. The underling wouldn't stop. As the man strode towards Snort he noticed more glowing eyes, ones, twos, sometimes three. What manner of beasts are these? The man thought.

The man knew he might have a chance to run. The beasts might devour Snort giving him a chance to flee, or they would simply slay Snort and continue their hunt for him next. No. He was too close. The man knew what he had to do. He flicked his right wrist readying his hand, made a few quick gestures then focused with all his will. The man focused inwardly more than he had ever before. It looked as though there was a clearing where all the eyes were gazing into the trees waiting for their prey. Snort was just about to break the clearing, and the man had nearly caught up to him now. Once they came into the clearing the man would unleash his will and fire forth a mighty fireball at the beasts!

The man's eyes were narrow-focused slots now. He peered at the clump with the most eyes present and readied his spell with some quick hand sigils. He overtook Snort and burst through the tree line into the clearing letting out a mighty roar, immediately pointing both arms in an open palm gesture towards his foes. A stench immediately arose from the man. An odor of decaying meat and vitriol. Some sort of blackish-green ooze flowed from the man's palms, vile mucous. The man stood frozen in the pose, waiting to be eaten alive by whatever foe he faced. Instead, Snort came up from behind in a gleeful manner. "Yay! Mastuh do magics! Most powerful!" Exclaimed Snort. "Erm yes. It was supposed to be a fireball, however, I decided mid spell to just scare them away with an odor most foul." The man jested with a heavy tone of self-loathing.

As the man regained his posture and took notice of his surroundings he began to realize that the beasts were not beasts at all, but the lights and lamps of Bissendorf. "See Mastuh? Snort finds Bissendorf. Snort see the colors." The man didn't have the mental energy to attempt what his minion was telling him. Snort often spoke of things that the man regarded as nonsense anyhow. Although the man was slightly impressed that Snort had guided them safely out of the Dead Wood this close to evening. The sun had almost completely set and night had befallen the woods. The man looked back at the tall scraggly trees and bush as a shiver ran down his spine. Only Sigmar knows what horrible fate would have befallen them if they had to spend a night in the ruinous forest.


	2. Chapter 2

**CHAPTER 2**

The man awoke to Snort's grunts and snores from across their gloomy apartment. He was curled up under a table in a pile of filthy blankets and old furs. Snort liked the area and the man wasn't going to spring for a bed for Snort so all was well in the end. The man could see the rays of the sun shining through the small basement window which supplied the cellar apartment with its only natural source of sunlight. A soreness ran through the man's legs which caused him to almost lose his balance attempting to leave his bed.

Their apartment was a meager affair. A bed, wooden table, two old wooden chairs, and a small stove served as its only real furnishings. The most important things the apartment supplied was secrecy and seclusion. The alley where the basement-dwelling was located is rarely trafficked by anyone regarded as having good intentions. The basement apartment had one more room locked behind a sturdy wooden door which was likely used as a root cellar at one point. Now it served as the man's sorcery room. Where he attempted spells and even studied the darkest of arts, the attempted summoning of daemons. All of his attempts except for a few meager spells have eluded him, however.

The man stood and stretched his weary muscles while yawning. Weariness still seeped into his eyes and mind, not quite awoken to the world yet the man stood and stared mindlessly at a point on the wall. A sudden rasp came at the basement door leading to the alleyway, giving the man a jolt. Snort stirred from his slumber as well blinking and rubbing his eyes like a child. Before the man could make it to the door another rasping as of wood coming in contact with the door sent reverberations through the room. The man-made it to the sliding peephole to see who was calling for him in such a place.

The man's gaze set upon a scowling middle-aged woman. Her eyes were angry tight slits. The man let out a laborious sigh as he immediately recognized the woman as Odeletta Gesslar the Black Boar Company's alchemist and herbalist, she also happened to be the one who hired the duo to go into the Dead Wood for the Witch's Foot mushrooms.

"Open the door Gazardiel." The woman commanded. Gazardiel opened the door with a gesture as to say she was welcome "Please come in Frau Gessler." The man said with a hint of disappointment. "I was jus-." the man was suddenly cut off. "No. No excuses Gazardiel." Commanded the foreboding woman as she marched into the basement. Odeletta was older, however, her strength did not seem to wane with age. She was a little shorter than Gazardiel, but her straight posture made her seem tall. She wore a faded blue robe along with a matching wide-brimmed hat that was more grey than blue, even more so than the robes. Her long brown and salted hair was tucked away and behind the large hat. She carried a 'walking stick' or staff more like that came up to about her neck. It was a beautiful but aging cedar piece with its uppermost tip forming into a bulbous sphere on which were engraved fading glyphs.

Once Odeletta's eyes adjusted to the darkness of the room she spotted the basket lying next to a poor excuse for a bed. She stepped over and picked it up then turned to Gazardiel. "We were expecting these last evening. What happened?" Odeletta asked as she stared at Gazardiel inquisitively. "Well, we found the mushrooms like you said: the eastern face of fallen logs, brown with pimples on the tops of them. However, the map failed to guide us back as you said. It was by mere chance that Snort here guessed his way back." Odeletta considered the lackey's story then retorted "The map is supposed to lead those who have the sight out of the forest. You ARE magically inclined aren't you Gazardiel? You told us you were." Odeletta asked obviously, losing patience where patience was little to spare already. "Of course I am." Replied Gazardiel anxiously. "I just must have been too exhausted is all." Odeletta shifted her gaze towards Snort, a look of curiosity in her eyes. "How exactly did Snort just 'guess' the exit to the woods?" Before Gazardiel could speak his thoughts as to how Snort managed the feat, the creature spoke up. "Snort see map. Snort follow colors." Odeletta's curious gaze grew more intense at the slouching critter however she did not have the time to ask further questions. "Well then. Of course, there's the matter of your payment. You were able to retrieve the items, but rather passed due. I also had to come myself which will be reflected in your pay as well." Odeletta spoke the terms of pay with annoyance but at a quick pace as there were other matters to attend to that day. She poked around in a purse that was tied to the inside of her robes around her waist then handed two silver pieces to both the man and the critter Snort, and spoke as she did "I believe two for the each of you is fair enough given the circumstances, now I bid you a good day." She then gave no time for the man's possible complaints and promptly marched back out the basement door and into the alley.

Odeletta returned to the Black Boar Company's headquarters, a small two-pronged dock and warehouse on the riverfront. The street on which it was located was just a simple dirt path laid with planks of wood which in spots had broken or deteriorated away leaving muddy potholes. This side of town was a bit shadier than most, cutthroats, drunken mercenaries, and river boatmen stalked in and out of the shadows conducting business only Sigmar could know. A sign above the main entrance facing the street bore the company's insignia; a shield-shaped icon in a checkered green and red pattern with the profile of a black boar in the middle.

Odeletta pushed open the wooden door and walked into the building. She entered the main room of the company's headquarters, a modest room with a clerk's counter, and meager furnishings. The clerk looked up from his labors, a stack of papers and documents laying on his counter. He was an older gentleman with a thinning frame, surely a bit more burly in his youth. His most noticeable feature is the snowy white mutton chops that ran down his jawline. A simple cloth hat covered his balding head. He looked up at Odeletta over his reading glasses, immediately recognizing her he simply nodded and pointed with his thumb "In the back", then returned to his work.

Odeletta walked past the counter and through the door on the right side leading to the back office and warehouse. She turned and was facing the company head's office. A wooden plaque reading "Günter Hoepfner" painted in black letters was pinned to the right of the door on the wall. Odeletta tapped on the door. "Come in" replied the manly voice of Günter. Odeletta stepped inside with the basket of mushrooms in her left and the staff in her right closing the door behind her. Günter waited patiently sipping on a cup of tea, while Odeletta, his hired alchemist, had a seat in front of his desk. Gunter was a middle-aged man. It was apparent by his overall appearance and attitude that he was once a man of the Imperial army. His muscles filled his long-sleeved white shirt and emerald vest to the point where little fabric dangled or drifted from his form. His face showed the scars and ware of battle however his attitude although meticulous was cheery and even kind. Underneath his large nose, Günter sported a large thick auburn mustache that nearly reached each end of his face and threatened to cover his entire mouth. His blue eyes were kind yet analytical. "Tea?" Gunter enquired in his deep Ostermark accented voice. "No, but it's appreciated" replied Odeletta with respect and a noticeable hint of flirty articulation.

"So, what were the two lads we hired up to? Trying to find another buyer?" Asked Günter, immediately getting to business. "They said they were lost." Replied Odeletta. "I believed them. They seemed half lost when we hired them." Günter thought for a second eyeing what was left of his tea. "Yes well, better to risk a map and some urchins rather than my own men. Good fighting men are far more expensive and much harder to come by." Günter picked up his teacup and spoke while going for another sip. "Will you be able to complete the concoction now?" He asked before taking a swig. "Yes." Replied Odeletta. "I should be finished by tomorrow. The potions along with the talismans I have prepared should be enough to see the expedition into Mordheim with relative safety. Also, it wouldn't hurt for your men to seek Sigmar's aid at the temple of course." As Günter nodded in satisfaction of a plan going along Odeletta snatched up the basket and her staff then made for the door. "Oh and Herr Günter. I will be attending the expedition." Before Günter could make his protests the alchemist had made her way out the door.

Günter reflected on the magic-user in his hire. She seemed to respect him fine enough but also tended towards her own ways. He also wondered what would happen if a magic-user accompanied the expedition. Sure a skilled mage could be a huge boon to such a journey however he recalled from his wisdom that magic tends to attract magic, and only Sigmar knew what sort of dire magical beings dwelt in the ruins of Mordheim. Was she worth the risk? He decided that her uses far outweighed her minor chinks and nuances at the moment. There was also the matter that he grew fond of her company over the few months he had known her. It would be nice to have someone to talk to who was a bit more learned in ways other than the comings and going's of the whore house and inns as his usual employees tended to be. He decided that decisions sometimes were best left undecided and to let Sigmar guide his fate. Günter smiled and called to the clerk outside to bring him one more cup of tea.


	3. Chapter 3

**CHAPTER 3**

Gazardiel stared at the two silver pieces in his open palm, thinking of how to spend them. He figured he'd try his luck with the local strumpets on Strider Avenue. Lately, most have come to know of him, and he had been denied service as of late. This would not stop him from trying once more though. A sickness coursed through Gazardiel's psyche, desires most debased and clinging to his mind that he spent all of his time, work, and effort attempting to fill the void it had created.

The two prepared for a day out. Gazardiel pulled a tunic over his head and swapped trousers for his only other pair. He tightened the cord of his pants and tied his worn belt about his waist. He concealed the two silver pieces in a small pouch he had sewn inside his right boot. Snort put on a cloak despite the heat outside. Gazardiel had noticed that the weather seemed to have little effect on the mutant creature except for maybe the harshest of climates. Snort then put on a leather eye patch over his bluish-purple eye. From afar the creature looked less like a mutant and more like a very old man or even lady. The disguise was necessary as mutants were heavily persecuted in the land of the Empire, and any overzealous Templar would likely not hesitate to put poor Snort to the stake. Even worse, thaught Gazardiel, they may even question him and come in search of me. The fledgling magician put the thought aside as he opened the door to let Snort out first then locking it from the outside.

Snort knew his job. With his two silver coins in hand, he was to gather some provisions for the next week. Fish, cheese, bread, bu… Snort could not remember the last thing. In fact, Snort was not even sure if that was the last thing. He could only remember the three. One, two, three things. Snort could count to three but the next one in line always eluded him no matter how many times Master told him. So he would get fish, cheese, and bread then try and figure it out from there. Snort figured it would be very obvious once he got to the market.

Snort now carried a full burlap sack in his right hand. It was filled with dried fish, bread, and cheese. Luckily for Snort everything on the list only cost three pennies. Now he had one silver and three pennies left. The fact that there was still so much left made Snort worry that there was more Master had ordered him to purchase. If only he could remember. As Snort hobbled around the market wondering what the last item was, he suddenly bumped into one of the stalls. A bald man with a thin twirling mustache peered over his stall to see what had made the thud. "Well there little fella" The man greeted Snort with the gleeful cheer any merchant would give to a possible customer. "If yeh got coin you can get your fill o' sweets! I got candied apples, dried apricot, sweet rolls, muffins, and Vermisst Crumpler just brought these fresh from the bakery." The man gestured towards a wooden display of freshly baked cookies cut into various shapes. Snort let in a large 'sniff' filling his senses with the aroma of freshly baked cookies. He knew instantly that this MUST have been what Master wanted him to find. Snort pointed at the cookies excessively. The man grinned then said the price "Just four pennies will get you six cookies''. A worried expression shot across Snort's face. Those were neither one, two, or three. What was Snort to do? With no other options, Snort slapped the silver piece and the three remaining pennies he had on the counter of the stand. The man's eyes widened. "Well then, I guess the Vermisst will have to make some more," he said. The man counted out the cookies with only three left remaining for him. "Here have the others. A discount I suppose." He then wrapped the remaining cookies in a thick paper and tied the bundle with some twine.

Snort made his way down one of the alleyways connecting the market to his home with the burlap sack in one hand and a cookie in the shape of a woolly sheep in the other. Snort stopped suddenly when he heard something. It was the sound of a woman crying and pleading. A man could also be heard yelling something. Snort ever curious sought the noise out. He turned the corner of one of the buildings and saw a man slap a redheaded woman across the face. She flung to the filthy ground dirtying her dress on the mud and filth. The man loomed over her, still yelling. The girl was pretty, snort thought. Why was the man hitting her? What did she do? As Snort looked on and wondered, the angry man turned his attention to the short man staring at him some distance away. "What in Sigmar's name are yuh lookin' at, yuh ass?" Snort did not reply. "Fuck off 'n mind yer own business or I'll make yuh wish yuh had." Snort stood there now more than just a little confused. If the girl had done something to anger the man, that was one thing, but Snort had no idea what he had done to anger him. He just stood and stared in his confused state still munching his cookie.

The man was now furious. Why the fuck didn't this old man listen to Corkscrew? In fact, why couldn't anyone just listen to Corkscrew today? First the whores were trying to undercut him and his boss. Now this old geezer staring at him as if Sigmar's cock itself sprouted from his forehead. It simply would not do to let this slide. Corkscrew strode up to the short old man producing his weapon/ torture tool of choice from his vest pocket, a wooden-handled corkscrew. As he approached Snort the brute got a better look at the old man's face. "Ay. Yer no old man. Yer a freak. In 'at case. I'ma do Sigmar a favor an 'ave yer life." Corkscrew then raised his right foot and kicked hard into Snort's chest, causing him to crash into the mud and filth.

Snort's chest filled with a dull pain as he lay prone on the ground. As he came too he shifted his gaze towards his right hand, the cookie… it was gone. Now Snort was mad. He had done nothing, and the man had been so cruel to him and the pretty lady. Snort shifted his gaze back at the man with the strange dagger. It looked as though he meant to hurt Snort with the dagger. The pretty lady called out and screamed louder than before "No!". As she screamed Snort raised his right hand in a halting sign, palm facing the man focused his intent, and shot waves of powerful energy towards the man. Invisible to everyone else, the bluish-purple light entered the man's navel. It was obvious the effects started instantly as a look of confusion and pain shot across the man's visage. The brute then let out a horrifying scream as he began to turn, quite literally, inside out from the navel. His bones, flesh, muscle, and organs began to rip through his navel and dump into a pile of steaming smelly vitriol on the ground. The woman stared on in shocked horror. She hated Corkscrew but had never in all her days thought his ending would be so horrific and incomprehensible. It was done in only a matter of moments, but the pretty lady sat staring at the heap for some time.

Snort was suddenly very tired. He wasn't exactly certain what he had done, but he was vaguely aware that he used his strange strength again. Snort had only used it a handful of times and every time he did he needed a long nap afterward. He got up and gathered his things then proceeded back to his home, too tired even to acknowledge the frightened woman now screaming and running away.

…

Gazardiel hid in the shadows of an old decrepit building on Strider Avenue. He searched the line of escorts and strumpets, looking for an unfamiliar face. He had no luck so far. Every girl out today has either known him or known of him. Just as he was about to give up and turn away he glanced the far side of the avenue a bit beyond the rest of the girls. There a short blonde girl, not twenty summers of age, stood waving and flirting with passers-by. Gazardiel had never seen her before. He knew that there was a slim chance the youth would do as he asked of her, yet she was his only chance as the other girls would have nothing to do with him.

Gazardiel straightened his posture and began his stride up to the young lady. As Gazardiel began to pass her, wishing for her to naturally flirt with him, he noticed the young strumpet avert her eyes. Gazardiel paused and sighed to himself. This often happened these days. Not even a lady of the night wanted Gazardiel's attention or coin, and who could blame them? He had seen better summers. His body was thin and his skin pale. His clothes looked more like a pauper's attire than anything else. Gazardiel paused, took the two silvers from his boot, then strode up to the lady. He was determined to enquire of her services whether she initiated the conversation or he. "M'lady, you're a fine young lass. What's to say we make this afternoon worth remembering?" He then rubbed the two silvers together between his thumb and index fingers. Before the young woman could even reply another prostitute (a little older with long brown hair put up in a giant mass upon her head) came darting from the crowd, grasping the blonde-haired girl by arm. "Shoo!" she said, eyes glaring at Gazardiel. He instantly recognized her as one of the prostitutes that knew him. She then turned to the young girl. "This man is no good. He's disturbed in the soul." Without another word, the older woman led the girl away from Gazardiel while shooting spiteful glares back in his direction.

"Sigmar's balls" Gazardiel moaned. That was one more who he could count towards the numbers of "knows of him". With no girl in sight that would be willing to fulfill his twisted actions, Gazardiel quickly thought of another possible place to spend the silver.

It was late afternoon now and the summer heat was waning when Gazardiel arrived at Scholar's Repose, a local book store known to deal in books that were a little sketchier than your average poet's portfolio or the tawdry romance novel. The bell above the door jingled when Gazardiel pushed it open and walked in, alerting the clerk who was currently stocking a series of books on the subject of local flora. The old frail man turned and greeted Gazardiel with a familiar smirk, not in a negative way like the street girls had, but in a positive paying customer way. "Gazardiel, I was just thinking about you," The old man said while taking his thin wire-framed reading glasses off of his pointy blushed nose. "You were?" Gazardiel asked, raising one eyebrow. "Yes, yes. I just received a book I think you would be interested in. It's supposedly written by Olga Birchsong, a famous witch of the woods." The old man said in a whispered tone as to denote secrecy. Gazardiel was skeptical. He was not interested in some witch's spell or love potion. He wanted something deeper, darker, depraved. "Yes." the old book clerk continued, "It's said she was burned at the stake one hundred years ago right here in Bissendorf. The witch hunters brought her here after a fierce battle in the woods. It's said that in her final days the witch had turned to chaos, and she commanded a band of mutants and even daemons." The man then stepped closer to Gazardiel dropping his voice to a faint whisper. "It's said she turned to the excessive worship of Slaanesh." Now Gazardiel was interested and he knew that unless the book cost a massive sum, he would likely be walking out with it.

Gazardiel watched as the old book clerk locked the shop door then walked to a seemingly innocuous bookcase nearer the back of the shop. He then fiddled with some sort of hidden latch letting out a quiet tick when he did so. The bookcase then swung open revealing a hidden closet containing books and other written paraphernalia deemed heretical. The collection was rather sparse: mostly banned books from magisters who turned to chaos at some moment in their life, there were a few secessionist papers written mostly by fools and romantics, a potion book here and there, and the spellbook the clerk meant to sell. Gazardiel did not know why the clerk trusted him as one of his secret clients. Perhaps the old man was an avid worshipper of chaos, working to spread corruption and disorder in any manner he could? Or perhaps the man saw something in Gazardiel that the clerk saw in himself? Maybe they were unspoken partners in the crime for hidden knowledge? Gazardiel did not know for certain, but the old clerk had proved useful so far. The shop was where Gazardiel acquired his first magical tome, a helpful tome it proved to be if only his spells didn't end in complete failure every time he attempted one.

The witch's spellbook (if it was indeed real and not a forgery) looked decent enough. It was bound in a purple-dyed leather. The front was not inconspicuous at all, a large pentagram burned into the leather took up almost the entirety of the cover. Sigils were blazoned into every point and the middle contained another pentagram, smaller and upside down. It was clearly intended to appear as a magical book. "May I look inside?" Asked Gazardiel "Of course." replied the clerk. "But only a glance of course". Gazardiel flipped through some of the pages. If magic did course through the book he did not feel it. Gazardiel glanced at a few lines and sentences. He studied a few of the illustrations. He looked for any obvious hints of the book being a fake, although Gazardiel knew deep down he did not possess the skills necessary to spot the clues even if the book contained them. However, the appearance seemed to be necessary to him. He did not want the clerk to think of him as some sort of dolt. "How much?" Gazardiel finally asked. The old man grinned.

Gazardiel returned home with the book hidden underneath his tunic and slid part ways into his pants. He did not want to be seen openly with such an item. He walked into the basement room to find Snort sleeping in his burrow under the bed. The creature let out horrific snores as he did so, a characteristic of Snort which took Gazardiel a long time to get used to. He noticed the burlap sack on the table and walked over to it. Peering inside the man saw the smoked fish, bread, cheese, and.. cookies. Gazardiel knew Snort would forget the butter and potatoes, and did not know why he ever ordered more than three things from the market. Gazardiel grabbed one of the cookies in the shape of a pine tree and headed towards the locked door. He pulled on a string around his neck that held a key, unlocked the door, and walked in. Gazardiel would now spend the next few days attempting to decipher and practice the witch's spellbook.


	4. Chapter 4

**CHAPTER 4**

It was a cool Ostermark morning in the riverfront district of Bissendorf. As the sun began to rise over the horizon in a brilliant orange and red glow, it slowly started pushing back the cool mist that had formed over the River Stir. Günter stood on his company's dock admiring the tranquil scene with a cup of tea in his right hand and a wooden pipe, the end piece expertly carved in the figure of a stout dwarf, hung from his mouth. Early morning rises like these always gave him a sense of nostalgia for his time in the Empire's rank and file.

Günter leaned over to tap the ashes and burnt tobacco out of his pipe on the side of the dock. He then turned back to inspect how his men were coming along in the final preparations of the two riverboats his company maintained. The Black Boar Company made most of its profit protecting river-bound vessels that connected to various cities along Stir, and oftentimes they provided the boats themselves, for a price of course. Two long and narrow boats were docked at the company's wharf. Each one had room for ten oars, five on either side. Günter shifted his gaze towards the lead boat, almost ready, the men were making some last-minute checks to ensure they had all their equipment. As they did, Fräulein Gessler seemed to be making herself acquainted with the vessel while her manservant lugged a burdensome trunk onto the back of the boat with the rest of the stowage.

Ever since the job to send an expedition to Mordheim came in, Fräulein Gessler insisted on accompanying the group. The potions and talismans she had concocted, although likely to be helpful, were more her idea rather than Günter's. He figured t was her attempt to persuade him in letting her go. Günter realized if she was willing to spend that kind of time and coin on the expedition then she'd be unlikely to take no for an answer.

Günter made his way towards the second boat which would bring up the rear. He stopped and addressed the man standing next to her, Hulgrim Topfer, the second in charge and lead of the rear vessel.

Hulgrim was a lean man compared to most of the mercenary group. His face was covered in a long bushy beard, kept clean and combed with the oak carved comb he always carried in his pocket. He wore an open blue jacket with white trousers, and a pistol along with a rapier strapped to his waist. The man had navigated river and sea alike in his time. The Wastelander orphan was raised on merchant vessels and navy ships, then immigrated to the Empire just two years ago. Now he found himself in the employ of the Black Boar Company navigating the comparatively easy waters of the River Stir. "How goes it Hulgrim?" Günter bellowed cheerfully. "Aye, sir she's almost ready to part. The men are checking the security of the cargo then we'll be off." Günter looked over the mercenaries making their last checks with satisfaction. "Right then. Off I go to my vessel and may Sigmar watch over you." Günter ended the conversation feeling completely confident that Hulgrim knew the extent of the plan.

Günter looked about ensuring he was the very last to step off onto the river vessel. Once inside he bellowed the command to push off. First his lead boat then Hulgrim's followed up the river Stir towards the ruined city of Mordheim. Two boats carrying 25 men and Odeletta making twenty-six in total, a large enough force to hopefully face the terrors that awaited? Günter asked himself.

…

A slight breeze flowed down along the River Stir as the mercenaries rowed up against the current. In this area of the river, the waters were calm and slow, allowing the men to take shifts rowing as the full crew was unnecessary. Günter surveyed his men on the boat. They were hard men, veterans of the Empire or the lands surrounding her. They showed almost no fear in their icy grimaces… almost. Günter possessed a keen eye for faces, and he could tell deep down everyone on the boat showed unease. For the boats headed towards the dreaded ruins of Mordheim, and every man and woman in their band knew what that entailed. Death was not a possibility. It was almost a certainty.

Every man seemed to show some sign of unease, that was, every man except for Odeletta's manservant, Hast. The large fellow leaned against the side of the boat at the rear. His old and tattered tricorn hat was pulled down over his eyes to keep the sun out while he napped. His thick muscular arms were folded together on top of his wide and powerful chest. The sleeves of his shirt were rolled up revealing numerous military and naval tattoos. Suddenly as the boat gently rocked against a submerged trunk the man was jostled awake. He did not move except for his right hand to scratch his long black beard.

Odeletta had hired the man just a few days ago before the journey. Odeletta was technically an employee of the Black Boar Company. However, she did not act as such. It was odd to Günter. An employee hiring their own employee? Even worse she had not even bothered to bring it past him. She had simply gone out one day and came back with the burly fellow following in her wake. Günter shifted his gaze towards Odeletta who was reading a book of some sort near the rear of the boat. "An odd woman indeed." Thought Günter. "Who brings books on an expedition?"

Günter found himself looking over Odeletta a bit more intently than he had first intended. She was aged yet still held on to her beauty. Her form was lean and healthy, likely a result of her travels. Her face was wrinkled yet graceful, stern in a knowledgeable sense. "Like a teacher's face," thought Günter. "Her bosom…" Günter shook his head while clearing his throat. There were more important matters to attend to, and ogling Odeletta was not on the list. He made his way from the front of the boat to where she sat, reading her book.

"May I interest you in something to drink Fäulein?" Asked Günter as he looked down at Odeletta who was still glancing at the book. "Perhaps some wine or brandy? Sorry to say there won't be any hot tea until we reach land." Günter added.

Odeletta marked her place and looked up at Günter. She had grown fond of the man over the time she had known him. He always had a smile on his face. It was the smile of a man who was genuinely happy to be alive. Nothing seemed to stop the aged mercenary. He didn't simply ignore obstacles, it was as though he never regarded anything as an obstacle in the first place. His drive and incredible resolve was enduring to Odeletta.

"Perhaps some wine Herr Günter." Answered Odeletta. "Although I am curious as to why you brought such things on an expedition."

"Ha!" laughed Günter. "I was just about to enquire the same of your book Fäulein Gessler." Said Günter as his ever-present smiled expanded.

Odeletta looked back at her book with a troubled look. "Oh, this?" she replied. A woman is entitled to her comforts is she not?" Odeletta replied, blowing off the question.

Günter raised a suspicious eyebrow for a second but decided not to press the matter. "I'll retrieve the wine for you lass. Just wait here. It's my own private stock." With that Günter winked at Odeletta and returned to the bow to retrieve a wine bottle he had tucked away in a chest compartment built into the boat's structure.

Night fell upon the two mercenary riverboats rowing up the River Stir like a blanket covering a corpse. The Dead Wood's mysterious gloom now grew to an oppressive dread as Mannsleib cast a silver light through the trees and onto the shimmering river. Every shadow cast by the trees seemed menacing and unnerving. As though the trees themselves meant the Mordheim bound travelers harm. The mercenaries on the boats were becoming aware of the idea that sleep would not be had this night.

Günter and Odeletta sat at the bow, now silently gazing at the silvery reflections of the water and shadows casting their long dark haze over the water. They had sat there and discussed or reminisced their own lives and ventures to one another for some time. Or rather, perhaps influenced by the wine, Günter had. Odeletta seemed rather wary of letting too much of her past slip. However, Günter had no problems talking of his time in the military. He had told her of his enlistment, and his promotion to Sergeant in a unit of pikemen. He even told her of his demotion in the unit when the Captain caught him gambling and drinking with the lower enlisted. He told stories of his battles with the greenskins and a mutant uprising in Gryphon Wood, then about his retirement in the infantry at the re-achieved rank of Seargent, and how he started his mercenary company.

Odeletta let Günter tell his stories. She had hoped that he didn't think it rude of her to share so little in return. She found herself intrigued by the stories the more he went on. He wasn't a perfect man, but from his tales, she gathered he was honest and brave. Odeletta suspected Günter to be downplaying some of the engagements he was involved in. She had heard of the mutant uprising in the Gryphon Wood and was aware that it was a bloody affair. Many young Imperial men were cut down by mutant ambushes and unseen witchcraft. It was only after they discovered the ancient ruins the mutants were using as a base of operations were they finally able to lay siege to the ramshackle fortress and route the crazed creatures warped by chaos. Odeletta turned her gaze from the shimmering river and looked at the old mercenary. "Perhaps if things weren't so pressing, and my duties were complete… perhaps." She thought as the boat glided onwards to Mordheim.

Suddenly there was a shout from one of the men. "Look! Portside!" The man held up a finger and pointed towards what he saw in the woods. Günter and Odeletta both shot their gaze towards the possible danger. Hast leaped to his feet drawing his weapons, a long hunting knife in his hand and a sailor's boarding ax in the other.

The man was pointing to a barely visible light in the forest. Once the eye was fixed to it, one could see that it was unnatural. It appeared as an orb glowing an eerie greenish witch's haze. Günter immediately began to scan the rest of the tree line. Doing so, he found that the orb was not alone, many more shifted in and out of the shadows of the Dead Wood.

"Do not stare at them!" shouted Odeletta. "If you didn't already put the necklace I gave you around your neck!" She warned. Right then every mercenary on the boat was seen double-checking his equipment to make sure he possessed one of the amulets given to the party by Odeletta. Despite him knowing he had, Günter checked his neck as well, grasping the round metal medallion engraved with Sigmar's hammer that hung around his neck.

"What are they?" asked Günter in a tone devoid of his usual chear.

"Could be anything," replied Odeletta. "Perhaps dead spirits trapped in the woods, malevalent creatures, or even the workings of a powerful being. I do not know. I do know dark magic courses through this area. The amulets protect us but the men must not stare into the lights lest their minds turn mad.

Günter made his way to the rear to relay the information to the other vessel. He cupped his hands and shouted at Hulgrim. "Do not look at the orbs! Keep moving. Be sure every man wears the talisman now!" Shouted Günter. "Aye!" replied Hulgrim confirming the message was received.

The boats carried on through the night. Every rowing seat now manned, although it seemed to be an exercise in futility. The orbs did not cease their pursuit. Everywhere they looked at least one was visible somewhere within the vast void of the dark woods. Eren, one of the men hired only months ago, was having difficulty separating his gaze from a particular orb. As he rowed he chanced glances at the object, and every time he did dread and fear washed over him like pus over a wound. Yet he could not stop his glances. Something drew him to the diabolical witch light. Deeper within the fear and dread, layed another, darker, more depraved emotion, power lust. Eren could see it now. He craved it. The power could be his. Vast quantities of glory within his grasp and all he had to do was reach out and take it. Eren's gaze was now fully fixed to the object, as it seemed to grow brighter and pulsate with power. It showed him visions of untold women bound to his will and cities crumbling before his might. Armies marched and pillaged in his name. "Take it, and it is yours." a voice emanated from within his head.

Hulgrim looked back at his men to examine them for fatigue, he would row himself in shifts if he had to. It was moments like these where the social inventions of rank and hierarchy dissolved, and all that was left was a will to live. As he examined their faces he saw that one of his men, Eren was looking out into the woods. Hulgrim quickly maneuvered around the other rowing men to get to Eren, who was now barely manipulating the oar as he stared off into the distance. Hulgrim reached down to Eren's shoulder, and just as he was about to command the younger mercenary to look ahead Eren sprang up in a fury producing a knife from his belt.

Eren screamed in furious unnatural tones. His eyes were filled with hate and malice as he plunged his knife towards Hulgrim. Hulgrim was barely able to react by catching Eren's arm with his left hand. The knife was only inches from his face. The two shuffled and Hulgrim lost his balance falling to the floor of the boat. The other mercenaries lept from their seats in confusion looking around to see what was happening. The man who sat behind Eren rushed to Hulgrim's aid, attempting to pull the crazed Eren off of him. As he did, Eren cranked the knife back out of Hulgrim's grip and into the thigh of the aiding mercenary behind him. A howl of pain and anger came from the man, but the veteran warrior did not stop. Eventually, Eren was pulled off of Hulgrim with the help of two other mercenaries and disarmed, and then suddenly Eren went limp.

Odeletta heard the raucous from the other ship and acted fast, immediately recognizing the sounds of a man drawn to madness by the work of dark magic. She ran to the rear of the lead vessel to observe the action on the rear boat. She saw one of the mercenaries had been hurt and howled loudly. A lump of bodies was over someone. Odeletta assumed that the person under the bodies was the crazed individual. She prepared a spell in her mind, ready for when the culprit became visible. Two more mercenaries grabbed ahold of just one man who was lashing about furiously, and pulled him up to his feet. Another man grabbed his arm and yanked what appeared to be a knife from the man's grasp. As soon as there was an opening Odeletta shot one hand forward in a sign she had known and practiced for years. Only she could see the blue light leap forward and into the maniac as he went limp and fell into a deep slumber.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

Gazardiel’s face was illuminated in an orange glow by the single candle lit in the middle of the root cellar. The candle cast deep and dark shadows across the packed dirt walls. Gazardiel chanted esoteric prayers intended to be heard by malevolent ears. He held the purple-dyed leather-bound book in his hands while sitting on the floor cross-legged. By this time he had memorized the seven chants, he was to perform. The witch’s spell book acted as more of a conduit... or it would have if it worked.

Gazardiel thought that maybe he wasn’t reading the chants in the proper way. Or it could be he was not performing the ritual long enough. He had already spent a few hours in the room on this one ritual today. “How many more did the spell require?” He thought. Gazardiel brought his wandering mind back to the chants and the ritual. It was now time to light the other five candles, creating the pentagram. Gazardiel lit a thin piece of timber by placing it in the already lit candle. He then began to chant a word of power for each of its designated candles. As he reached what would be the third point in the star, Gazardiel knocked the candle with his foot. As he bent down to grab it he forgot to mind the still lit piece of tinder in his hand. The flame licked his cloak sleeve and caught.

“Sigmar’s Balls!” Cursed Gazardiel as he felt the dry hot pain course through his wrist. He dropped the tinder and put it out by patting his arm with the other hand. Angry, burnt, and tired Gazardiel then blew out the other candles and exited the root cellar, locking the door behind him. Snort was in his usual spot under the table rubbing his stomach. Cookie crumbs dropped from his cheeks and down to his stomach. Gazardiel examined the critter. “I take it the cookies are gone?” Said the would-be mage. Snort did not answer but averted his eyes and let out a sniffle.

“Did Mastuh perform magics?” Asked Snort genuinely curious.

“It’s difficult to perform anything with the drivel that the hack at the bookstore sells.” Replied Gazardiel as he nursed his singed wrist.

Gazardiel felt weary and sat on his bed. He finally felt the exhaustion from the rituals pour over him. His eyes were heavy and every blink now became longer and longer. Gazardiel could not think of anything better to do now than rest. So he laid his head down on the dirty furs and blankets then dozed off into a deep sleep.

Snort watched his master go to bed as he often had when he returned from the mysterious cellar. Master spent would often spend long spans of time in the room. Snort had always wondered what the strange singing was all about. Snort’s mind came to the conclusion that whatever was in there must be pretty interesting if the Master was willing to spend so much time in there.

As Snort sat in his strange nesting area he noticed the Master shift in his slumber. As he did so, a rusty key tied to a bit of cord around his neck fell out from his robes and dangled at the side of the bed. Snort knew he was not to enter the forbidden room, but Snort could not see the harm in a little peek.

The short goblin-like man hobbled over to the slumbering Gazardiel. He then attempted to remove the necklace in a sly and silent manner, but instead, he jerked and pulled the necklace off his slumbering Master with the cunning of an ogre. It did not seem to matter as Gazardiel was too exhausted for his mind to rouse him and make him aware of the lumbering thievery.

Once Snort obtained the key, he hobbled over to the root cellar door. Snort stuck it in, and with a few hearty shakes and jabs, he was able to catch the tumblers and open the lock. The musty air mixed with the aroma of burnt candle wick escaped from the room and into Snort’s almost inoperative nostrils. The room was barren and devoid of light, yet Snort could still see. Colorful lights emanated from the ritual candles and pentagram. They danced about the room in vibrant auras. The hardiest source of color was not the candles or pentagram. In the center of it all, Snort was able to make out the book Master had brought back from the store. It shot forth an eerie green and purple geyser of color mixed with undertones of black.

Snort walked over to the book and opened its pages. The creature could not read the letters in a true sense but somehow understood their general meaning. Like a person instinctually knows the warning colors of certain insects. Snort flipped through the pages for some time intrigued and amused by the glowing illustrations and writing. Then on one particular illustration, there was an intricately drawn hexagram containing sigils and other various magical glyphs. Snort placed his hand on it. The creature was unsure what drew him to the action. But once he had, a vibrant light shot out of the book and wrapped itself around Snort’s hand and up his arm to his shoulder then head. Then another vibrant light full of color seemed to emanate from Snort himself shooting rays in front of him. The rays oscillated faster and faster until they began to create an image of a beautiful woman with long flowing hair and eyes as dark as the night.

“Follower of the Cauldron of Trees, you have called and I have answered!” Spoke the image to Snort. “Unbind my soul to this tome at once! And I will give you anything your heart desires. For I am Olga Birchsong and the material world bends to my will!” The apparition ended and now glared at Snort awaiting an answer.

Snort replied at first with a sniffle, as this was quite a lot to take in for the hobbling creature. The lady was pretty, and she reminded Snort of the commanding power of Odeletta. So Snort decided it best to do as she told him. “What does pretty lady want?” asked Snort.

Olga Birchsong continued to glare at the creature as she spoke. “I have bound my soul to this tome waiting for one powerful enough to release me. I require a suitable host for my soul to inhabit the material realm once more, where I will take my vengeance upon mankind.” The witch commanded. Then she outstretched one arm pointing a finger at Snort. “You will go out and find me one virgin maiden of only twenty summers of age, and bring her to me. So that we may continue the ritual.” With her will known, the image of Olga began to disseminate. The energy tendrils binding Snorts hand to the book receded allowing him to pull free.

Snort then exited the root cellar forgetting to lock the door behind him. He hobbled back over to his sleeping master, and as conspicuously as he had been in taking off the necklace, he put it back around his master’s neck.

Snort wondered about the streets of Bissendorf looking for “a virgin maiden of only twenty summers of age”. Snort felt confident in himself that he could memorize that line. As for its meaning, Snort was entirely lost. The poor creature had no idea what any of it meant, and the pretty lady seemed to be scary enough to do something bad if he got it wrong. Nevertheless, Snort saught out his objective.

He traveled to the only place in Bissendorf where he knew he could ask for something, the market. He wondered about for some time to see if anything the peddlers were selling struck him as being a “virgin maiden of only twenty summers of age”. He saw meats hanging from butcher shops, clothes, furniture, and other bobbles. But nothing seemed to be the virgin maiden. He gave up in the endeavor and instead simply walked up to the nearest stall and asked the merchant for what he desired.

Snort leaned up against the front of the stall and told the merchant his order. “One virgin maiden of only twenty summers of age please.”

The merchant Snort decided to ask stared at him. He said nothing, and a look of surprise and bewilderment plastered on his face. Snort repeated himself.

“What in Sigmar’s blessed hammer are you talking about fellah?” Asked the man. Before Snort could answer the man realized he didn’t want an answer to the question and sent Snort on his way.

Snort had several similar encounters with different merchants. Until finally, he came upon a burly man with a long mustache. He was hocking fake jewelry near an alley leading out of the market.

“Oh, ho-ho fella! You certainly have your tastes in order.” laughed the fake jeweler after Snort told him what he saught. “Well, I figure a fellow like you would ‘ave to go down to Strider Avenue if you know what I mean. None of em are gon’ be virgins, but I suppose if yeh got the coin they'd be willing to pretend to be.” The man then pointed in the general direction of Strider Avenue. Not that Snort needed them. If he had known that what he sought was in Strider Avenue then he would have gone there first. Snort had accompanied Master many times to the location to talk to the pretty ladies that seemed to live there. Snort did not understand its meaning. And did not know why his Master always insisted on going to the place, only to leave disappointed and angry. This was not for Master though so maybe Snort would have better luck. After thanking the kind merchant for his insight, Snort set off for Strider Avenue to find a “virgin maiden of only twenty summers of age”.

Dusk was beginning to set upon the city of Bissendorf. And with it, the greasier denizens of Bissendorf flocked to Strider Avenue like moths to a candle. Strumpets dressed nefariously, flaunted and flirted their “goods” to potential customers. Along the street, shadowy men dipped in and out of the few taverns and inns of the area. Snort was shifting about on one side of the road looking for a pretty lady he could talk to about his inquiry. He wasn’t sure of most of the meaning of the demand except for “twenty summers of age”. Snort had a loose grasp on the concept of how many that was, but he knew it was young. So he searched for a girl who to Snort seemed young.

As Snort was about to cross the road to talk to a particular redheaded girl with a kind smile, a shady individual bumped into him. Snort almost fell flat on his odd face because of it. The man turned to Snort and sneered, “Watch out freak.” Snort was suddenly bombarded with a memory of a similar mean man who hurt him in an alley. The man had also, as Snort recalled, made him drop his cookie. He then wondered for a second as to what happened to the angry man. His mind was completely blank on the subject. The shady fellow had disappeared by the time Snort came back to the present moment. The red-headed lady now held a man’s hand in hers and they walked off together. Snort would have to find another.

Irma watched as a strange-looking man with a limp and an eye patch made his way towards her. She rolled her eyes in the prospect of having to either blow him off or seriously consider his offer. The weird ones were often keen on their situation and brought enough coin to sweeten the deal. Although the coin was good sometimes, Irma didn’t know if it was always worth it. The short man came within arm’s length of Irma and looked up at her with a sort of childlike smile.

“I am looking for a virgin maiden of only twenty summers of age,” said Snort to the pretty brunette lady he had spotted moments ago. Snort was not sure of her age as even he could tell she was older than twenty summers. So he had hoped that she was a virgin maiden and that would be enough for Olga Birchsong.

“For the right amount sweety, I can be whatever you want me to be,” Irma replied with her standard answer.

Snort was ecstatic. This to him did not sound like a no. “Yes. please come,” replied Snort.

“Woah not yet little guy. First, we need to discuss my payment,” replied Irma with a tone of annoyance.

Snort finally understood what someone was talking about. “Payment” was something he had dealt with before. He pondered though as to how he would produce such a thing. Then he remembered! “Whatever you want! The lady says you can have whatever you want as long as you come,” replied Snort with enthusiasm.

Irma was now more interested than before. Lady? As much as she wanted? Perhaps this strange man was some sort of servant for a rich noblewoman who wanted to keep her desires a secret. Things like this were known to happen. Securing such a client was heavily sought after by the ladies of the night. Sure, some of the women had a habit of not returning from some of the noble’s estates, and if they did it wasn’t always in a desirable condition. But this was a woman, maybe she sought the company of another? Irma decided.

“Please, take me to her,” said Irma, now in a tacky faux noble tone.

Snort lead the pretty lady through the winding alleys and streets of which lead to the basement apartment. Irma found herself suspending her disbelief more and more as she was lead along the path through neighborhoods which even she was wary of. She had decided that the noblewoman must have sought refuge in a dingy place devoid of prying eyes. If Irma was being honest with herself, she had actually found the secrecy rather exciting.

Finally, the two stopped at an old wooden door at the side of a similarly old building. Vines snaked up the walls of the building. A musty scent of mud and standing water emanated through the alley. The dingy and dark buildings surrounding them seemed to watch with lingering eyes. Shadows and candlelight flickered from few windows while shapes scurried in and out of shady corners. Irma suspended her disbelief once more as the little man jiggled the key around in the door, unlocking it.

Gazardiel awoke to the sound of someone opening their door. Fear washed over him as he immediately suspected some unwanted intruder. His fear was put to rest as soon as it opened, and the hunched figure of Snort entered. “Snort, What in Sigmar’s c... “ he couldn’t finish as the shock from laying eyes on a woman entering their room behind Snort blocked his throat. It was dark in the apartment except for the moonlight entering through the still-open door. Gazardiel fumbled for his fire striker in order to start their stove for light. Once lit he could confirm that he did in fact witness a woman step into their apartment. She was older but still beautiful. Her long flowing brown hair came down to her bosom which was perfectly accentuated by the tight white and black corset she wore. Gazardiel was in utter disbelief that his minion had finally done his bidding, although sporadically.

“Great work Snort!” exclaimed Gazardiel. “Please lass, in here,” he said as he produced the key from around his neck and motioned towards the door. Gazardiel wished to waste no time. He did not want to give the woman a chance to change her mind.

Irma was unable to fool herself any longer. She doubted now that there even was a noblewoman. She cursed herself for falling into such a trap. Although she meant with all her will to run as fast as she could out the door she had come in, something stopped her. A strange feeling had entered her very soul as soon as she had entered the dusty apartment. It felt like curiosity mixed with morbid fascination. Her eyes, she found, were fixed to the door that the ugly man had led her towards. Irma could not stop herself from moving towards the door, and then into the root cellar.

Snort followed Master and the pretty lady into the root cellar right as Gazardiel was about to close the door. A puzzled look lay upon Gazardiel’s face as Snort hobbled across the room and towards the witch’s tome. He opened the page with the hexagram and promptly placed his hand upon it. A dark green and purple light shot from Snort’s body. As before it oscillated at speeds unrecognizable by the human eye. A wet warm wind roared around the room as the light became clearer and clearer. An image of a woman appeared before Snort.

“What in Sigmar’s cock is going on Snort!” yelled Gazardiel. The green woman shot her black-eyed gaze in the direction of the insubordinate man. Gazardiel’s heart trembled with fear as the woman’s black sight peered straight into his soul.

“Silence!” demanded Olga. “Have you brought the virgin?” Gazardiel was frozen with shock. As if the definition of the word itself barred entered his body and turned his muscles to stone.

“Yes!” said Snort excitedly. “She is here,” Snort gestured towards the strumpet.

Then Olga’s form reached out with purple tendrils to examine the woman. Irma was frozen in place as the ethereal magic examined her body and soul to see if it was a suitable match for her. The more she examined the more Olga filled with rage. It was apparent from the beginning that this woman held none of the features she looked for. Her catalyst and worshiper had failed her. Or was the creature that held the power to summon her actually a worshipper of the mighty Olga Birchsong, Harbinger of the Debased? In retrospect, she had been foolish to assume that the stout thing had summoned her intentionally. She turned her eyes to the little man, her eyes showing terrible fury.

“You fool! This wench is not what I seek. You have failed me, creature, and now I will devour your soul,” roared the vision. As she did so the tendrils around her shot into the head of the woman. They expanded instantly, popping her skull apart with a horrible sound of visceral and bone breaking all at once. Skull fragments and brains splattered the walls around the root cellar. Gazardiel was hit with a jaw fragment particularly hard in the head, knocking him out of his funk.

After dispatching the uninhabitable vessel, Olga turned her attention to the small man. He had attempted to trick the mighty witch and must pay for his insolence. She sent forth powerful energy into the creature, expecting little resistance from the feeble thing. Right as her tendrils reached Snort she was suddenly stopped. A power brewed within him. He blocked magic blows and countered immediately. Olga looked on in horror now as she realized she was outmatched by the thing’s sudden and awesome power. Lights of blue and purple as well as a bit of red and gold shot forth unholy magnitudes of energy into the witch of the woods. Olga looked down at her torso. A ball of colorful energy formed from within her. It expanded more and more as she struggled to fight her catalyst’s power. Then at last with a powerful grunt from Snort, the ball of energy expanded, ripping apart the image of the witch. Ethereal goop splattered the walls and Gazardiel once more. His robes and face now covered in a mix of blood and ghostly slime. Somehow Snort remained clean, however, protected by his magical aura.

Gazardiel did not move for a long moment. He looked on in disbelief and horror at the scene before him. He had walked into the room expecting his most debased desires to be fulfilled. Now instead, covered in filth and slime he watched as Snort fell to the floor and into a deep slumber. Gazardiel whimpered in frustration.


	6. chapter 6

**Chapter 6**

Both of the river vessels hit the shoreline of the river Stir with a thud. Günter hopped out immediately to be the first on land. Others followed him with long ropes. They set to work tying the riverboats up on the trees further inland to prevent them from washing away. Günter surveyed the landing site. He did not like being so close to the woods, seeing what horrors lay within the night before. They had no choice in the matter though. Landing inside of Mordheim would be unwise. The boats would draw unwanted attention by anything wishing to get their hands on the mercenaries’ supplies. Günter looked to the north, at the city of Mordheim in the distance. A sickly haze lingered over the vast ruined city. Its crumbling walls no longer serving to keep unwanted parasites out. Crumbling towers and tall buildings still popped over the wall here and there awaiting their turn to fall. Günter paused for a moment, taking in the general atmosphere of the area. Among the smells and sounds of the land was another feeling. It was almost imperceivable to him but still there, lingering in the air. It felt like static electricity and pricked his skin causing the hair on his neck to rise. As he rubbed his neck Odeletta came from behind immediately understanding his situation.

“The powers of the warp are strong here Herr Höpfner,” She said as she walked next to him with her aged staff in hand.

“Yes, I recognize the feeling. When we raided the ruins in the Gryphon Wood there was a chamber deep within. A vile creature worked on wicked sorceries in that room. I could feel it then as I do now. Although I must admit it was stronger then than it is now. I assume it’ll be much stronger once we reach Mordheim?” Günter said to Odeletta.

“I assure you that the effects would be more noticeable here if you did not wear the talisman I prepared. It will get stronger in the city, but I have my faith in my ability and Sigmar’s blessings that the talismans will hold. "If we run into anything exceptional there are always the tinctures as well,” said Odeletta as she too looked upon Mordheim.

‘Aye,’ thought Günter. The potions had come in handy once already. After the mercenaries on the second boat subdued Eren last night he was bound to a seat. As they waited for him to awake again Odeletta gave the command to give him the tincture she had prepared with the Witch’s Foot. Once he awoke two strong lads pried his mouth open and poured the concoction down his throat. Once more the young Eren went limp for a time then awoke refreshed and very confused. Even though Odeletta assured everyone that Eren would be fine now as long as he didn’t tempt the dark powers of the warp anymore. Yet, Günter caught many of the other mercenaries shooting weary looks in Eren’s direction.

Günter turned to see how his men were doing with the unloading. They worked with the quiet speed of professional soldiers. Each man unloaded equipment or began to equip themselves. Halberds or spears were carried by every man in the company. Each mercenary also carried his own secondary weapon of choice. Some had maces or swords and some war picks and war hammers. Some of the men carried personal pistols as well. Günter didn’t care for the often unreliable things. He had five crossbows to divvy out as well and planned on bringing four with the expedition, leaving one with the boats. Günter made his way to his compartment in the lead vessel to acquire his gear too. He opened the compartment at the bow of the boat and reached in. He grabbed his gambeson, a finely crafted piece with a green and red striped pattern. After putting the gambeson on he adjusted his belt and the only weapon he carried. He reached to his side and unsheathed his saber. It was razor-sharp and light. The blade glistened, even in the hazy overcast, as he inspected it. It was a gift to him from a Kislevite nobleman near the end of his military career. Günter had been assigned to a small coalition force to dispatch a growing threat of goblins. They had been hiding in the World’s Edge mountains near the borders of Ostermark and Kislev. The goblins were becoming less of a nuisance and more of a threat to the area's economic production. After the campaign was over the Kislevites invited the company of halberdiers to their longhouse for an epic drinking bout. Günter had shown he could hold his own with the Kislevs that night. A nobleman of high status, who admired Günter for his prowess on the battlefield and in the drinking halls, saw fit to reward him. He smiled at the memory of his ventures across the lands of the Empire and beyond as he placed a wide-brimmed hat on his head. A large white feather stuck from a green and red cloth tied around the center of the hat.

Günter saw from his position on the boat that the men were done fitting themselves for combat and ready to set off. Before they could go there was the task of figuring out who would stay with the boats. He commanded silence with the tone of a veteran sergeant and the group fell silent instantly.

“Hulgrim, You’re staying with the boats. I need four more men to stay here with Hulgrim,” Günter shouted. Of course, there were no quick volunteers. No man in his company was willing to let themselves be called a coward. Although Günter suspected that staying behind was almost as perilous a duty as venturing into the city. The only advantage was that you could get away if things got too nasty by cutting the ropes securing the boats.

“Alright, I understand. I’ll choose myself then,” He said.

Günter picked out four more men, one veteran of the company and three newer members. He purposefully avoided picking Eren for the task. He feared what would happen if the lad was too close to the forest during nightfall again. The men Günter chose only griped a little as they walked over to stand with Hulgrim and the ships. Hulgrim was left with seventeen men now, not counting Odeletta, her manservant, and himself. He split them up into two units of nine and 8 men then appointed leaders for each team. A veteran of the company for two years now, named Aaron, led the first team. The second was a less experienced, but very able man, named Wilhelm. Günter looked over his force once more. Some of them carried shields with their spears and some only halberdiers. A few of the men could afford iron cuirass’ while others wore gambesons. All were experts with their gear, whatever they carried. Trained by the Empire and honed in mercenary life, the men looked to be a daunting force capable of the mission. Günter gave the command, and they were off. The men and Odeletta marched towards the ruined city of Mordheim. Their mission was to gather as much of the greenstone scattered across the blighted land as possible.

…

The mercenary troop came upon the crumbling wall of the city of Mordheim. They ran into little trouble so far except many of the men couldn’t help but shake the feeling that they were being watched. The party stopped when it arrived at a breach in the failing walls. Piles of stone and rubble created a steep yet climbable hill up and over the ramparts. Günter signaled for the first team to ascend the rubble while the others watched the rear. Once Aaron and his team got about halfway there, Günter and Odeletta began their ascent of the pile of stone and bricks as well. They climbed on hands and knees as elevation was steep enough to keep them from standing upright. Once at the top with Aaron, Günter and Odeletta stopped to catch their breath and look down upon the desolate scene below.

Every building and street resembled the crumbling wall in looks and status. Time slowly worked its effect on everything in sight. Houses, churches, and other buildings of the city lay in heaping piles of rubble or were on their way to join their brethren. Some buildings had their front sides completely sheared off showing their interiors from the outside. Almost every roof seemed to be caving in or have a hole in it somewhere. Doors and windows lay strewn about and smashed. Some buildings leaned into others, and some even burned this very moment sending plumes of black smoke into the sky. The river Stir ran a sickly gray through the city. Its bridges were damaged to the point where an attempt to cross them may end in peril.

Odeletta’s hired hand ascended the pile next. He paused and looked at the scene with the others for only a moment. He then shrugged and continued forward down into the city of Mordheim. Günter watched with an eye of curiosity as the hired sword made his way down the slope. The man seemed to be indifferent to the weight of their mission. What kind of man simply shrugs at the sight of such a thing? Even his own men, all veterans to some degree, showed some sign of fear and awe on their faces. But Hast had been unshaken.

The last of the rear team was coming down the breach. Both teams set up a perimeter around the two sergeants, Odeletta, and Günter. The group discussed their plan of action in the city. Odeletta had Hast walk up and turn around. He wore a large leather pack around his shoulders full of his and Odeletta’s things. She rifled around in a side pocket and pulled out a rolled-up parchment. She walked back to Günter and the leaders and unfurled the parchment revealing a map. It was an old thing. Odeletta had found it in a bookstore in Bissendorf. According to the bookstore clerk, it had many previous owners. Mercenary bands and brigands would buy the map to go to Mordheim. Then the mercenaries would sell it to another group wishing to make the journey. It was a small miracle that the map was not lost to some failed expedition.

“So we are here,” said Günter as he pointed at the southern side of the map. They were a little east of where the river Stir runs through the city. He then looked at his men who still pulled security in a half circle formation. “Remember where we are. If we get separated go south until you hit the wall. Then go west. The rendezvous point is this breach,” he informed the men. None of the mercenaries turned from their position, listening as they watched for any sign of attack.

Odeletta spoke up “I’ll be able to detect the wyrdstone. I’ll also attempt to keep us from any areas of magic not related to the wyrdstone,” she said.

“Good,” agreed Günter. “All signs of danger should be avoided if possible. Our plan, if attacked, is to attempt to break from the engagement as quickly as possible. The last thing we need is to get picked off in there just to have a group of third-party scavengers finish us off,” explained Günter. “Right then, I want the lead team to take point now. We’ll head north in a double column formation. Crossbowman will be second from the front and rear. If you see anything, shoot it. Our only friends in Mordheim are right here.” With his men addressed Günter took up position behind the lead team with Odelleta and Hast.

The band of mercenaries made their way down the winding rubble-filled roads of Mordheim. The sun was difficult to make out in the haze, but Günter reckoned it was afternoon now. Their progress had been impeded by buildings spilled out, blocking the road. The band of men also found themselves backtracking when they came upon a dead-end in the maze-like city. A dark fog settled into everything in the ruined city, nearly blocking out the sun. The men strained against the gray curtain of the fog looking for any sign of movement in the shadows. On several occasions, the precession had been halted to examine nefarious tracks and other signs of lurking things that inhabited the city. Günter had stopped the formation once himself. He swore he saw a pair of red beady eyes glaring from a darkened window of a ramshackle stone house. Three men had been sent inside to investigate the possible scout, but they returned with nothing to report. So the formation of mercenaries marched on.

Odeletta froze in place as she clamped down her eyes. Günter immediately recognized the state and called for a halt. The mage had sensed the powerful stone for the third time today. The men made a more secure perimeter around the mage. Odeletta opened her eyes and pointed towards a stone building with a massive hole straight through the roof and the wall. As if something had crashed down on it from an angle. Hast, Aaron, and two other men were sent into the building to retrieve the wyrdstone that Odeletta sensed. As Hast neared the door he drew his hunting knife with his left hand, with the boarding ax already clutched in his right. The lead sergeant gave a nod and Hast raised his leg then blew the door down with a mighty kick. Within the second all four of the men were inside and clearing the house. If Hast had been a man to notice such feelings he would feel a chill down his spine at the eerie sight of the interior. Furniture and everyday objects were laid out in their place as they had been since the disaster of Mordheim. Long dead flowers drooped out of dusty vases on the dining table awaiting their time to finally turn to dust. Plates and bowls sat atop the stove and kitchen counters. The insides of which were coated with black remains of long rotted foodstuff. At the far side of the living room stood a large blackened fireplace of crumbling brick. Around the fireplace sat four chairs, their long-dead occupants laying scattered in piles of bone and dust around the fireplace.

One of the mercenaries said a quick prayer to Sigmar at the sight of the long-dead family.

“Looks like they went on the first day. One should be so lucky to die a quick death in the City of the Damned eh?” said Hast to the praying mercenary. Hast had turned and started for the stairs to the second floor too soon to witness the scowl upon the veteran’s face.

All four men converged back on the stairwell. Hast took lead again as they made their way up the creaking stairs. Once at the top the group was faced with a long hallway with four doors, two on either side. The four men set upon the task of clearing the floor. The first room to the left contained nothing of interest. The last man closed the door once they exited to leave the bed and dressers to rot in peace once more. The next room on the left contained the hole through the wall and ceiling. Hast crept over to the hole carefully, as to not fall through, then yelled down to Günter and the others. “Nothing yet. Two more rooms to go,” he yelled and then crept back to the others.

Hast placed his hand on the handle to the room at the far right of the hall and pushed it open. His heart froze as a metallic click pierced his ears. “Get down!” he shouted as he flung himself to the floor. The others followed but were too late. A blast of green fire blew the door off its hinges and turned the mercenary directly behind it into a fiery gooey corpse. Aaron and the other had been spared death but were horribly rattled by the blast. Aaron was still in a daze as he felt a strong hand grab his gambeson from the rear and pull him.

Hast had little time to get himself and the two wounded men out of the house. The bomb had already set a large portion of the dry rotting house afire with sickly green flames, and the rest of it was soon to follow. He grabbed the two by the neck of their gambesons and dragged them to the other room with the hole. Hast stopped at the hole in time to look on in cold rage as he saw what he feared. Gangs of greasy furred rat things poured from broken windows and shadowy alleyways on all sides of the men below. They chattered and squealed at each other in their vile dialect. The majority of the rat things carried simple spears or spiked clubs. A few in the ranks were better equipped with wicked-looking swords and other implements of war. It was an ambush.

Hast caught the attention of Günter and shouted “By Rhya’s tits get your ass over here and give me a hand!” He screamed. Günter rushed over with Willhelm to retrieve the wounded. Hast took the men one at a time and slid them down the side of the building out the hole where the other two caught them. Then Hast himself grabbed onto the floor and climbed down just as the house was engulfed in green and red flames.

The men formed two lines on either side of the road to fend off the attackers. Without hesitation, crossbowmen let loose bolts which found their homes in the chittering skulls of the rat things. Spearmen plunged their tips into any of the ambushers who dared come close, while pikemen dropped their ax-like heads into the skulls and shoulders of any unfortunate enough to be in the range of the weapons. Odeletta knew that they would soon be overrun, however. Such was the way with the creatures, and if she did not do something it would be sooner than later. She closed her eyes and quieted her mind with the expertise of years of practice. Her focus shifted towards the winds of magic. As she breathed rhythmically, she could feel the power swelling within. With one last breath out she opened her eyes and forced a wall of blue light towards an oncoming Skaven group.

Hast waited as he saw Odeletta channeling. He knew it would only be seconds now before their chance would arrive. As soon as he saw the blue wave of energy blow past the defending mercenaries and into the line of the Skaven he acted. The rat things were frozen in place and unable to move. They stood like grotesque furry statues as they were stuck in a pocket of time. They moved forward by one-thousandth of a second of normal time. Günter took notice of the effect of the spell as well and ordered his men to charge. The lead group along with Hast bolted forward planting their weapons into the Skaven’s flesh. Hast moved through their ranks cutting and hacking at limbs and heads as he went. Once he had moved about halfway through the group he turned back and yelled to Günter. “Tell them to stop and form a line!” he shouted. Günter did as the hired hand advised. He pushed back the annoyance of having some fist-for-hire order him around. There was no time to dwell on such things. As soon as the men were in a line the time frozen Skaven began to move once more. Many dropped to the ground instantly as they were released from the spell, guts and blood oozed from their bodies. The ratmen were now introduced to real-time and felt the effects of the wounds inflicted on them by the mercenary force. The other ratmen who had not been cut down hesitated in fear and confusion after watching more than half of their kin fall slain in a literal instant.

Odeletta turned to the other line on the opposite end of the road. A man cried out in pain as a Skaven spear tip found its way into his thigh. Odeletta had no time to wait. As she channeled the second spell Günter and Hast broke off from the lead team. Their situation on the lead team's side now under control as the ratmen thought twice of their charge.

“Willhelm! Prepare the men for a charge on my command!” yelled Günter as he stepped up to the second line. As he pushed in alongside the men, two ratmen made their way towards Günter. The old warrior parried the first rat monster’s crude iron sword expertly. Then push his saber through the Skaven’s throat as its weapon was flung from its hands. As soon as it fell the second was upon him with a vile-looking spear. Günter sidestepped in time, the spear barely missing his torso. As the ratman attempted to regain its balance Günter brought down his saber on the things right hand, lobbing the appendage clean off along with the spear shaft. The Skaven screamed in agony as black blood pumped from the stump. Just as Günter was about to bring his Kislevite saber down on the creature once more to end it, a blue wave pulsed past the line and into the oncoming ratmen. “Charge!” he yelled, his voice carrying the tone of battle rage. The mercenaries of the rear line now made their charge. Once again Hast set upon the things in silent rage as he hacked and slashed at the creatures with impressive speed. When the line was reformed and the Skaven who yet lived were released from the spell’s grasp, the battle had been won. The remaining Skaven fled back into the dark stinking holes from whence they came. The mercenaries cheered in Sigmar’s name as they saw the scared rat things turn and run. But the revelry was short-lived, as they soon remembered they were in Mordheim where Sigmar’s reach seemed strained.


	7. chapter 6 pt2

Chapter 6 pt 2

Aaron came to from his dazed state to witness short rat-like creatures scurrying away into the hidden corners and shadows of Mordheim. He then realized that the last thing he remembered was being in the house, and wondered how he now came to sit on the street below. He looked to his left with a confused look at his comrade who had also been in the house with him. The veteran mercenary who he had worked with at the Black Boar Company for a year now was lying on the ground completely still. Blood began to seep from the corners of his mouth and his ears. “Tilmann,” Aaron called out in a raspy voice. He swallowed and tried again. “Tilmann!” but the man did not answer. Aaron crawled over to his fallen comrade to further inspect his status. As Aaron looked for signs of life in the man, a shadow was cast across the body. Aaron looked up to see Günter. The head of the company held his saber out still unsheathed. It no longer glistened as it was covered in black blood. Günter grimaced as he inspected Tilmann's condition. He breathed heavily as he addressed the confused Aaron.

“It doesn’t look good Aaron. I’m afraid it was just you and Hast that made it out alive,” Günter said as he raised his saber to point at the house, now completely engulfed in flames. It was only then that Aaron noticed the sensation of heat billowing off the inferno.

As Aaron closed Tilmann’s eyes he noticed a troublesome pain in his right shoulder. He looked to find a piece of wood about the thickness of one’s thumb jammed into the front of his shoulder. Blood congealed around the wound where flesh met wood. In his dazed state, Aaron went to yank at the object. Günter reached out to stop Aaron before any further damage could be done.

“Now come on Aaron you know better than that,” said Günter as he pulled Aaron’s hand away. As Günter helped Aaron to his feat Hast and Odeletta approached.

“We have to leave now,” said Hast with a sense of urgency. Once again Günter felt the sting of annoyance in the back of his head as the hired hand ordered the group around.

“I’m aware,” said Günter, as he eyed Hast with a disapproving look. Before anyone could say another word Willhelm jogged up to the group to give his report.

“Sir, We must go back. Victor is wounded through the leg, and Swen is missing two fingers. He says one of the rat things bit his hand and took the fingers with it,” reported Willhelm.

“No, it’s too-” Hast was cut off by Günter, unwilling to allow the man to give his men one more order.

“No,” interrupted Günter. “Hast is right. We cannot go back the way we came. I fear those things have been watching us since we entered the breach. We cannot stay here any longer than we have to as those ratmen will only attack us again in greater numbers. Tell Swen to tie it off and suck it up. As for Victor, make sure to tie off his leg and plug the holes with the bandages we brought. He’ll need to be helped along from now on. If we get a chance he’ll break off and make for the wall or stay with us,” Günter commanded.

“I have something that should assist the man with the pain,” said Odeletta. “It will not heal his wounds but should make the travel bearable. As for Aaron..” She turned her gaze towards the wounded team leader with the piece of wood jutting from his shoulder. “I suggest you leave it for now and we’ll remove it to apply proper bandages when we find a safer spot,” she said. Odeletta rummaged through the pack on Hast’s back to retrieve a small glass bottle containing a greenish yellow-tinted liquid.

She handed the bottle to Willhelm who, before turning away, asked, “Just what in Sigmar’s name were those things?”

“Skaven,” replied Hast. “Or ratmen if you prefer. Vile creatures who engage their enemies with cunning and trickery rather than bravery or might,” said the gritty man as he spat on the ground and turned from the group.

“Skaven?” replied Willhelm to nobody in particular as he walked to tend to his wounded comrade.

The group marched further into Mordheim with a renewed sense of paranoia gnawing at the back of their skulls. Every shadow, open door, and dark alley was cause for suspicion now. The danger, once seeming as a faint superstition to the men, now took up a large sum of every one of the men’s minds. Günter found himself in the grasps of paranoia as well, not for the Skaven and danger, however. But for the two odd ones out in his band. First Hast seemed to overstep his bounds more often than was reasonable, suspected Günter. Then he thought of Odeletta. It only occurred to him now that he had given the old mage free rein of their route plans. At first, it seemed a wise decision. Günter knew little of the true power of mages, but he did know that she possessed the capability to sense the greenstone and other powers of magic. Günter grew displeased with his thoughts. Of course, he trusted Odeletta. She had been nothing but forthcoming up to this point. She had always been willing to help above and beyond what she had been hired for. Yet still, Günter had a sense that the two were not telling him something.

The haze over the ruined city grew even dimmer as dusk arrived. Günter knew that a fortifiable position must be sought out soon if they were not to be caught on the roads at night. As the troop rounded a corner of an intersection, Günter threw up the signal for a halt. There on the corner of the intersection opposite to them was a building still intact. A wooden sign still jutted out from a metal rod above the door connected by a chain and swaying in the slight breeze. It read “The Lazy Mule”. The group made their way to the inn cautiously to find it empty and only a little ransacked. The two large windows on either side of the main door were completely smashed out. So some of the men set to the task of blocking it up with the stools and tables which were strewn about the place. Hast walked about the interior, analyzing the derelict pub to make sure nothing went unnoticed. He ran his finger over the bar which was laden with a thick layer of dust. His finger made a noticeable line on the old oak counter. The corner of his mouth raised in mild disgust as he rubbed the dust between his finger and thumb.

Günter watched as Odeletta applied bandages to Victor’s right leg. The wound had been grotesque. Günter realized that the foul beast’s filthy spear would have likely caused the wound to fester by now if it had not been for Odeletta’s knowledge of medicine. Yet again she proved herself quite useful, but Günter could still not shake the feeling that she hid something from him. The woman had become quiet with Günter ever since they entered Mordheim. She seemed to be more focused on her mystical doings than Günter had expected her to be. As if she pondered something more meaningful than the green stone that lay strewn about the ruins. Odeletta now finished up the bandaging of Victor’s leg. She now moved on to Aaron with the wooden shrapnel still jutting out from his shoulder. Odeletta called for one of the other men to hold Aaron still, in order to pull the wood from its place. Aaron gritted his teeth in agony as the Odeletta yanked the foreign object from the wound. Although it looked as if it caused him great pain Aaron flinched little. The hardened warrior had become accustomed to wounds in his field of work. Before he could lose any meaningful amount of blood, Odeletta began to shove a mashed herbal mixture into the wound. After the bandaid was wrapped neatly around Aaron’s wound the veteran thanked the mage and walked off to check on his men. Günter motioned for Odeletta once she was done putting away her things.

“How will they be?” he asked.

“I fear for Victor,” Odeletta replied. “His wounds will heal, and the poultice I applied will ensure that it does not fester. However, he will likely slow us. He might still need help walking and if he walks on it too much it will not heal correctly,” She explained.

Günter nodded his head in agreement having already assumed this would be the case for Victor. “What of Aaron and Swen?” he asked.

“Both should be fine,” She began. “Although their combat ability may be hindered a little they should not slow us,” she finished.

Günter stroked his long bushy mustache as he paused to think of the day’s events. It had only been the first day in the city and he was already down two men and possibly a third. He gave a quick prayer asking for Sigmar’s protection then thanked Odeletta.

“I can not thank you enough for what you do for my men Fräulein Gessler. I can now see how foolish it was of me at first when I forbid you from coming,” He said to Odelleta.

Odeletta smiled for only a moment as Günter’s gratitude threatened to make her blush. She immediately regained her professional demeanor.

“Your gratitude is well-received Herr Höpfner. Now I must find a room in this place which is quiet. I have expelled much energy performing the spells on those vile vermin earlier today. I need to quiet my mind and refocus my senses,” She explained to Günter.

“Of course, there’s a storage room in the back. I’ll be sure to tell my men not to disturb you until the morning when we move out,” said Günter. With his men healed to the best of their ability Günter charged Willhelm with the task of setting up night watches. The men seemed to fear another attack from the Skaven. Although, Günter suspected it to be unlikely at the moment. The beasts likely only set up ambushes behind the men's routes to cut off their possible retreat. It was unlikely that the creatures thought that the men would push onward further into the city after such an ambush. Only time would tell what night brought for the mercenary band though. Günter felt weariness creep into his eyes and sought a place to rest. 

Günter felt as if he had only been asleep for a few moments when his nightmare of being chased around a tree by ratmen jolted him awake. He found himself laying on the dingy mattress he had found in one of the inn’s rooms upstairs. It had stunk of mildew and rotted cloth. To subdue the odor Günter ripped a window curtain from its pole in an upstairs window and draped it over the bed as a sheet. It seemed to perform the job with mild success. Although, Günter felt better not having to lay down on the rotted mattress himself. He lay awake for some time staring up at the ceiling of the dark room. Only a hazy silver light crept in from the smashed-out window of the room. It took his eyes a great deal of time to adjust to the intensified darkness. He listened to the creaks of the crumbling timber frame of the inn. He could hear faint sounds of coughing or hushed whispering from the watchmen on the first floor. His men all slept downstairs with some of them working in shifts to maintain a watch on the streets and alleys surrounding the building. Günter was about to slip back into a slumber when he heard whispered tones he did not recognize as his men. He pondered for a second. Then he realized that he had inadvertently chosen a room that must sit directly above the storeroom Odelleta had taken.

Günter searched the dark room for any point in the floor which would allow him to listen in on the conversation. There next to the wall was a faulty floorboard. A small sliver of light shined through the tiny crack. Günter silently crawled towards the hole making a great effort to be as slow and methodical as possible. His efforts paid off as he laid his ear over the crack without pushing a single creak from any of the floorboards. In his new vantage point, he could eavesdrop on every word of the conversation. Günter immediately recognized the other person in the room below to be Hast. They whispered in tones that were hard to hear yet still audible to Günter. Anyone else in the vicinity was unlikely to hear.

“When will we get there?” asked Hast. There was a long pause as Odelleta pondered the question.

“If we stop for as little of the wyrdstone as possible then we should arrive sometime in the afternoon tomorrow, maybe sooner. I assume these men are early risers,” She answered.

Günter could already feel his heart plummet into his guts. He had only just started listening, and his fears were confirmed. Not only did it seem that Hast was more than a chance employee of Odeletta, hired from one of the many holes in Bissendorf where his ilk skulked. It also seemed they did not share the same goals as Günter and his men.

“Do you think there will be enough of them left to achieve the objective once we get there? It’s already likely to be a tough fight. And if we keep losing the mercenaries looking for that cursed stone then we’ll be cut down as soon as we get there,” said Hast.

“I know,” replied Odeletta with a tone of frustration. “I will try and stop for as little of the stone as possible tomorrow. I do not want them to suspect us though. If they found out then I fear that we will have nobody to take the defiled sanctum just the same,” she explained to Hast.

Günter fought to control the rage burning from deep within his abdomen. Hidden incentives were one thing, but tricking Günter and his men into being their pawns? It was grounds for abandonment or, in the worst case, for on-the-spot execution. Günter had decided that he heard enough. He crept to his door and made a great effort not to make a sound when opening it. When he was out in the hallway the sentry, who had been posted on the upstairs window looking down on the intersection below, turned and looked at his company captain. Günter waved for the man to follow. Once downstairs Günter woke Willhelm and two more men. He whispered what was to be done to the small group. The men looked at their captain with shocked faces. None of them had suspected the two of anything, especially not Odeletta. The four men crept to the door of the storeroom. They were quiet, but Günter suspected that the occupants from within heard the creeping men outside. It did not matter. Günter knew he must confront the two. Willhelm kicked down the door to the room and his men rushed the room within the second. Günter was somewhat surprised to hear no signs of fighting or struggle. He was even more surprised when he turned the corner to see Hast with his hands up and Odeletta sitting cross-legged on the floor. She looked at Günter with a face of disappointment and sorrow, not entirely unlike that of a child who had been caught in a bought of mischief.

“We need to talk,” commanded Günter.


End file.
